


Ghost

by orphan_account



Category: History (Band)
Genre: AU, Haunted House, M/M, One-Shot, ghost!kyungil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Yijeong is dared to brave a haunted house at night, and Kyungil is the ghostly specter who haunts it.





	Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote a couple years ago and never posted... it's just a short kinda-cute one-shot centered around flustered Yijeong. Idk. I miss my boys and thought I would post it in case there's anyone looking for History fics.

Yijeong's flashlight sputters out at the top of the stairwell.

"Shit," he curses, smacking it against his palm. It manages a feeble flash of light before going dead completely. He's frozen, foot still poised on the final stair. Suddenly every sound is deafening in the darkness.

Yijeong swallows, his throat going dry. He should've known better than to wander away from camp alone. Jaeho is back in the main room, two stories down and fast asleep. He could call out and wake him, but that would mean the chance of waking anything else between himself and the main room.

Which of course, is ridiculous, Yijeong reassures himself, because there's nothing in the house but him and his friend, snoring down on the first floor. The whole reason they're here is to prove the house is empty.

 _So prove it_ , Sihyeong's condescending voice appears in the back of his mind unhelpfully, giving Yijeong the guts to glare into the darkness.

Tucking the useless flashlight into his back pocket, he feels for the curving wall. The third story was the master bedroom and ballroom, he recalls from their daytime visit. The ballroom with magnificent, huge windows which would surely let in enough moonlight to see. A good place to sit and wait for his vision to adjust.

The top stair creaks under his weight as he steps onto the landing, making him wince. Stupid old house.

Yijeong's fingers brush the end of the bannister, feeling for where the stairwell turns into a hall that leads to the master suite. The ballroom should be to the right then. At least... he thinks so.

He has to let go of the wall to feel for the edge of the right corridor, blindly groping his way across the hall, one step at a time. When his hands find solid wood he lets out a breath in relief, the draft stirring the hairs on the back of his head.

Wait.

He grips the wall, frozen again in terror. Someone just breathed down his neck. He's  _sure_  of it. But when he reaches a quavering hand behind his back, it meets with nothing but a slight chill in the air. He draws it back, rubbing his hands together apprehensively.

When did he get so soft? It's just a drafty old house. Here he is having heart attacks at the slightest poof of air- how ridiculous.

Yijeong stuffs his hands in his pockets with determination, his vision now adjusted enough to see the faint outline of a door up ahead.

He's no ninny. He's an explorer. Blindly making his way through uncharted territory.

Like he and his friends used to to when they were little and played pirates and warriors. He smirks a little at the memory, the theme song they had made up popping into his head. He hums it quietly to himself as he trails his fingers down the corridor wall, the sound of his own voice helping to sooth his nerves.

"Captain Donghae, you shouldn't have come," Yijeong the pirate murmurs, pausing dramatically in the doorway to mime drawing a sword from his belt.

"I have laid claim to this house, and I intend to fight for it!" On the last syllable he makes a jab into the room, successfully scaring off any imaginary intruders. Satisfied he’s scared off anything that could be lurking in the shadows, Captain Yijeong stows his sword and strides into the ballroom.

It's fairly small - he can see now in the moonlight as he had predicted - just a bare room with antique floorboards of light polished wood, and faded murals of orange clouds lining the walls. 

It's beautiful actually. Yijeong finds himself wanting to linger until the sun rises so he can see how the clouds in the mural would look basked in warm light. He traces their graceful swooping lines with the back of one finger, marveling at their artistry.

Without warning, the drapes are flung shut, instantly dousing the room in darkness. Yijeong yelps, whipping around so his back is pressed against the wall.

No panicking. Could've loosened and fallen by themselves. Could've been the draft.... no it really couldn't have been.

 _What the hell,_ Yijeong frowns, pulling his jacket tighter around him as he tries to control his frantically beating heart.

The only other option, and by far the worst of all the options… was that someone or something had pulled them shut.

Wetting his dry lips, Yijeong opens his mouth to speak.

"Who's there?" His voice cracks, sounding off in the empty room.

The air stirs in the far corner of the ballroom, and every hair on Yijeong's body stands on end. The rustling almost sounds like faint words.

"Is s-someone there?"

The sound gets louder and now Yijeong is sure it's a voice.

"This is... my house..." the darkness hisses.

Yijeong is quaking now, feeling frantically behind him for the doorframe. "Who are you?" he manages.

The sound comes again, and has more of a human quality to it this time, like the gravelly voice of someone who hasn’t spoken in a long time. "My name is..." It has moved from the corner of the room to Yijeong's right side, where he’s still trying to feel for the door. He jumps back in terror, retracting his hand.

There's a pause, like the owner of the voice is thinking.

"My name is Kyungil."

"You're Korean," Yijeong breathes, the panic fluttering in his chest pulling out his only coherent thought.

There's a rumbling sound, and Yijeong screws his eyes shut, but after a moment he realizes it... it sounds like laughter. 

"Yes," the voice replies, "I'm Korean."

"Me too."

The rumbling laughter begins to ease some of the panic in Yijeong's chest. If whatever it was had wanted to hurt him, it would've done so, right? He clears his throat.

"I didn't mean to intrude, h-hyung, I was-"

Suddenly Kyungil is right in front of him, voice quiet and very human. "Claiming this house for your own?"

"N-No! No," Yijeong squeaks, feeling very stupid as he backs himself up even farther against the wall. He can almost feel Kyungil smirking in the darkness as he draws closer. "No, that wasn't- I was just messing around, not actually-" His face is burning, which is weird because the air in the room is unnaturally chilly.

"A-a-and I don't mean to be rude, but are you a ghost?" he blurts, flustered.

Kyungil hums, as if amused by the thought, but doesn't reply. The rumble of his voice is very close; Yijeong finds himself breathing shallowly like he would if a real person were standing right in his face. 

Kyungil doesn't say anything more, and after a while Yijeong looks around cautiously. Maybe... he's gone? Would he have made a sound if he had left? Is he still there?

Yijeong extends a hand slowly out in front of him.

"You can't touch me."

Yijeong draws his hand back so fast he smacks his elbow against the wall. "Ah! I wasn't-"

He can feel the blood rushing to his face again. Great. His elbow hurts and he's being flustered by a ghost. Or something. But in his defense it was really weird not knowing what the heck the guy was doing when he was supposedly standing right in front of him.

Yijeong huffs, gathering his wits. "If I can't touch you, why can I hear you?"

"Because I want you to hear me."

"So..." Yijeong muses, "If you wanted me to touch you I could?"

"Why would I want you to touch me?"

"Just, _theoretically_ ," Yijeong says, trailing off.

The air stirs as Kyungil hums again. "I don't know." Kyungil's voice now came from next to Yijeong, and the boy imagined him leaning casually against the wall as he spoke. "But I can touch you."

Yijeong's gasp echos a bit in the vacant room. Something cold has been pressed against his face and he has nowhere to pull away. A hand, most definitely. Kyungil's hand. Yijeong swallows nervously, standing as still as possible. He can feel a thumb on his cheek, and three fingers cupping his jaw. The cold isn’t so fierce after a moment or two, and it sends shivers down to his toes. Not quite an unpleasant sensation... just an odd one. Then the pressure is lifted away and Yijeong sags back against the wall. 

"You're the first one not to scream." Kyungil whispers, and Yijeong can hear the smile in his voice, "Congratulations." 

"Thanks," Yijeong manages breathlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~


End file.
